Name: Spencer
Genre: Drama
Released: 2021-11-04T00:00:00+00:00
Cast: Kristen Stewart, Timothy Spall, Jack Nielen, Freddie Spry, Jack Farthing

The camera lingers on Kristen Stewart’s Diana, Princess of Wales, standing alone in the vast, oppressive kitchen of Sandringham Estate, her reflection fragmented by the grid-like window panes. This opening shot sets the tone for Pablo Larraín’s Spencer (2021), a film that fractures the mythos of royal life into something raw and deeply human.

Larraín, known for his unflinching portraits of historical figures (Jackie, Neruda), approaches Diana’s story as “a fable from a true tragedy.” The disclaimer is crucial: this isn’t a biopic but a psychological drama, a fever dream of a woman trapped in a gilded cage. Stewart’s performance is the film’s anchor, a masterclass in restraint and emotional precision. She doesn’t mimic Diana; instead, she embodies her vulnerability, her hunger, her quiet defiance. The scene where Diana sneaks into the kitchen at night, ravenous but denied food by royal protocol, is devastating not because of histrionics, but because of Stewart’s hollow-eyed exhaustion and the way she crumples against the counter like a child caught in an act of rebellion.

The film’s structure mirrors Diana’s unraveling psyche. Time loops, memories blur with the present, and the oppressive grandeur of Sandringham—captured in Claire Mathon’s icy cinematography—becomes a character itself, its corridors echoing with the weight of expectation. Timothy Spall’s Major Gregorys is a standout as the stern gatekeeper of royal decorum, his presence a constant reminder of the system Diana is desperate to escape.

Yet for all its strengths, Spencer falters in its ambition to be more than the sum of its parts. The psychological framing sometimes feels overly stylized, veering into abstraction without enough narrative payoff. Sally Hawkins’ brief but pivotal role as Diana’s confidante is compelling but underutilized, leaving her character’s potential unexplored. And while the film’s ending—Diana driving away from Sandringham, finally free—is emotionally resonant, it also feels rushed, as if Larraín couldn’t decide whether to linger in the moment or cut to the chase.

The film’s originality lies in its refusal to romanticize royalty, but this comes at the cost of depth. The supporting characters, particularly Diana’s sons (Jack Nielen and Freddie Spry), are sketched with broad strokes, their relationships with Diana reduced to symbolic moments rather than fully realized dynamics. Jack Farthing’s Charles is a cold presence, but his character lacks nuance, making their marriage feel more like a battleground of archetypes than a real relationship.

Spencer is a film that dares to ask difficult questions about fame, freedom, and the cost of being “the people’s princess.” It doesn’t always have the answers, but it asks them with such visceral urgency that it’s hard to look away. The film’s exploration of mental health, particularly through Diana’s eating disorder, is handled with sensitivity but also with a level of detachment that can feel clinical at times. This distance is perhaps intentional—Larraín wants us to see Diana as she sees herself: fragmented, observed, never fully present.

The cinematography is another standout element, with Mathon’s use of natural light and shadow creating a haunting atmosphere. The film’s color palette is muted, emphasizing the coldness of the royal environment, but punctuated by moments of warmth—like Diana’s red dress in the Christmas scene—that highlight her humanity amidst the formality.

The sound design also plays a crucial role, using silence as much as music to convey emotion. The absence of dialogue in key scenes, such as Diana’s solitary walks through the estate grounds, amplifies the sense of isolation and introspection. The score, composed by Jonny Greenwood, is understated but effective, adding layers of tension without overpowering the narrative.

In terms of genre fit, Spencer straddles the line between historical drama and psychological thriller. It’s not a film for those seeking a traditional biopic or a straightforward retelling of Diana’s life. Instead, it’s for viewers who appreciate experimental storytelling and are willing to engage with ambiguity. The film’s pacing is deliberate, bordering on slow at times, which may test the patience of some audiences but rewards those who stick with it.

Comparisons to other works about royalty, such as The Crown, are inevitable. Where The Crown offers a polished, episodic look at the royal family, Spencer is raw and intimate, focusing on a single, pivotal moment in Diana’s life. It’s a more personal portrait, one that prioritizes emotional truth over historical accuracy.

The film’s reception has been largely positive, with an 85% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes and a 78 score on Metacritic. Critics have praised Stewart’s performance and Larraín’s bold approach, though some have noted the film’s stylistic choices can feel excessive at times. These criticisms are valid but don’t detract from the film’s overall impact.

Ultimately, Spencer is a film that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll. It’s not perfect, but its flaws are overshadowed by its ambition and the power of Stewart’s performance.